


May he rest

by TailorFox



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Bucket List, Character Turned Into a Ghost, F/M, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, Sassy Legasov, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-06-08 17:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TailorFox/pseuds/TailorFox
Summary: September 1989, as time is running out for Shcherbina, his decaying brain begins to play tricks on him. It has to be a hallucination, he told himself. If not, how could he explain this presence in the middle of his bathroom?“You are dead.”“Try harder.” Legasov rolled his eyes. “Someday, you might tell me something I don’t already know.”





	1. Prequel

**Author's Note:**

> I’m really having fun writing Chernobyl’s stories. Well, fun might not be the most adequate words, but I’m sure you’ll understand the idea. As I’ve already mentioned in previous works, I’m not a native speaker. This is unbeta’ed. Feel free to correct me. :)  
> I’ve seen one or two works featuring a ghost!Valery. I haven’t read any to prevent myself from overthinking or influencing the work in progress. So I can’t swear it’ll be unprecedented, I only hope it’ll please you. 
> 
> The first part is a short one, actually it’s more of a prequel. I’ll update as soon as I can. I wish you a good reading.

**Moscow, 3rd September 1989**  
  


The physician adjusts his glasses, nervously watching me, while I'm absently looking at the several luxuriously framed university degrees on the wall, pensive. _Come on, spit it out._

I think of Krasine, the secretary from the third floor, who happily told me that the General Secretary had asked for the best doctor. I laughed dryly at her words. _He once sent me to an early grave._

He sighs, finally providing the diagnosis, "I'm sorry, Comrade Shcherbina." 

I stand up, thank him and leave, saying nothing.

The General Secretary appointed the most overly priced physician in the USSR to a dying man. Pointless to the very end.

It would almost be laughable, if it were not such a serious issue.

Brain tumor.

_As if failing lungs were not enough._


	2. Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do my best to prevent any grammar error or typo, but if you see any, let me know. :)

**Moscow, 3rd September 1989**

“I’m pleased to see you. I suppose your attendance is proof of good news.”   
“Not really, Comrade General Secretary but I appreciate your concern.”

Some of the chairmen around the table displayed various expressions from embarrassment to total indifference. Most of them were younger ambitious men, they certainly thought of me as nothing more than an outdated old bear. I couldn’t even deny them anymore.

Troubled, Gorbachev insisted one last time.   
“Please, come to my office after the meeting.”

I nodded, hiding my reluctance. There were, after all, no time for small talk, especially in these times of crisis. The General Secretary was walking on eggshells, he knew it. Everyone did.

I opened the first folder. Years of civil conflicts had led to severe deterioration of distant communities’ infrastructures, feeding the desire for independence. One of those younger men spoke with an unexpectedly aggressivity.

“The disobedient and rebellious should be destroyed- “

I rose under the watchful gaze of Gorbachev, worried of the outcome.

“How many of you have heard the Great War? How many of you fought the Second War ?” I said, my tone betraying my lack of patience. “None? I did. Kill the fathers and their sons will go after us with twice as much wrath and determination.”

The hotheaded boy smiled viciously, emphasizing some of his words.   
“Not if we _warn_ them enough.”

I repressed a cough, lecturing him one last time.   
“Fine. Seems like we’ll never learn from our mistakes.”  
“The older generation’s mistakes. World is changing, so are we.”

Gorbachev made a small gesture, silencing us firmly.

I coughed, nearly gagging, to the satisfaction of my younger opponent.

 _World is doomed_. _And so am I._

\--

“I’m sorry to—”   
“Save me from your apologies. You wouldn’t mean it.” Gorbachev replied, fussing nervously behind his desk. “How bad was it?”   
“Meeting?”   
“Health.”

I sat, doing my best to appear unshattered.   
“Brain tumor. However, I was told I’m more likely to die from my lungs’ problem.”   
“Can radiation induce brain cancer?” He immediately enquired, still haunted by the Chernobyl disaster.  
“I haven’t asked. Determining its cause won’t cure it, anyway.”

Disturbed, I looked around the room. It had always smelled of wood furnitures, ink and Gorbachev’s strong perfume but this time I sniffed a faint, different scent. Side effects of my treatment, undoubtedly.

“Boris?”   
“I feel a bit tired these days. It’s getting harder to focus. I need to adjust to my new medication, I guess.”   
“I understand absolutely. I think you should take a few days off.”   
“You’re being generous Comrade General Secretary, but I don’t want to.”, I replied, much to his surprise.  
“Well, I won’t ask you to die behind your desk, but your presence is valued.” He took some papers, signing them quickly. “I trust fewer people than I used to.”

How could it be differently, I thought. _We are working amongst wolves in sheep’s clothing._

\---

 _Beef stew,_ I recognized, greeting my housekeeper.   
“You'd better be hungry!”

My brave Donia has always made his best to add some warmness in this lifeless apartment which was hardly a home at all. She grew even more devoted, regularly reminding me to look after my health. Unfortunately, my appetite has decreased significantly since the therapy started. She was using every trick she knew to force me to eat. His famous beef stew was one of them.

“What did the doctor say this morning, sir?”   
“Nothing significant.”, I lied. “Paracetamol may reduce the headache.”

She turned the TV on. Music filled the room while I was doing my evening routine, putting four pills in my hand and a glass in my other. I then picked my plate, managing to eat half of it. The meal was indeed delicious.

“Take care of you, Mr. Schcherbina.”

The door closed, sending me back to my loneliness. I allowed myself two glasses of vodka, and sat in my favorite armchair, feeling drowsy. By eleven, the TV sportscaster was yelling when I heard a softer, different voice. _I must be losing my mind._

I rubbed my eyes, turned the TV off and headed into the bathroom.

Never in my life have I felt so afraid. My heart pumped so hard I could hear every thud in my ears. I couldn’t even breathe, let alone talk. It couldn’t be the amount of vodka I’ve had. _I’m dead_ , I thought. _Dreaming_ , maybe. When did hallucinations become one of the symptoms of a heart attack?

I shivered and talked to the person in front of me the way I would talk to a- _Living man ? I’m definitely going mad._

“You’re dead.”   
“Try harder.” _Legasov_ rolled his eyes. “Someday, you might tell me something I don’t already know.”


	3. Confusion

**Moscow, 4th September 1989**

The light bulb was flickering, straining my eyes. It couldn’t be a ghost. Valery looked incredibly healthy, standing straight, dressed in a grey suit I had never seen him wearing. 

\- My brain is bringing you back to torment me, I supposed, pointing harshly my finger at him. Why would you be here if it wasn’t to-

The tumor had certainly hit some sensitive areas _. It had to be the tumor_. I coughed. Skeptical, Valery arched his eyebrows.   
\- I don’t know either, he said. Brain cancer, is it?

I gave him a nod.   
\- Anyway, I wasn’t expecting to last this long nor to _outlive_ you.

Raising his hands, he fixed the light bulb. I finally dared to look him in the eye, meeting the fierce, sharp gaze. Seeing him – actually seeing him -- twisted my hearth.   
\- I knew you’d be angry.   
\- I am. 

He winced, caught off guard. It made me even more irritated. What was he expecting? He couldn’t arise from the dead, asking for forgiveness and a warm welcome like he used to request tons of sand. Silence came and lasted for what seemed like hours. Valery leaned against the wall, touching his breast pocket by rote, the same where he kept his cigarettes back in the days. Obviously, there were none.

\- It was the only way, he mumbled, shaking his head nervously and pulled out a spotted handkerchief. I couldn’t just let them have the last say. 

I froze and blinked.

Valery was gone.

\---

I spent one of the worst nights of my life, riddled with nightmares and horrific thoughts; I was convinced none of it had happened. Valery was dead, buried in Novodevitchi cemetery, a place I went to once. There was nothing left of him, but bones buried under marble floor.

However, I couldn’t get these words out of my head; _I couldn’t just let them have the last say_. Although his death pained me, I had quickly grown more resentful about him hanging himself. I had always despised suicide, and always will. More, we fought together in this hell hole; even if we had been kept separated for two years, the simple thought of him, of a Comrade sharing my fate, made life bearable. Until Tarakanov phoned me on the 28th of April saying, “I heard terrible news. Legasov killed himself.”

_I knew you’d be angry._

Exhausted, I got up early, dragging myself to the shower, stripping my undershirt, soaked in cold sweat. I still felt the anger the nightmare left me with, bitterness swelling inside my chest. _You’re going mad, Boris Evdokimovich. Mad and lonely._ I turned the water hotter and hotter until I felt finally warm, inhaling the steam, soothing my lungs. _A dying man has no time to waste with ghosts._

I was getting dressed when the light flickered on and off for a moment. I took a look around me, suspicious, and fixed the lamp. Nobody appeared. I blamed myself for my stupidity and left the apartment, determined to forget about the tricks of my sick imagination.

My chauffeur opened the car back door, bowing lightly. Dimitri was his name, or something like that. Young party member, polite and helpful. Also, a spy, I learnt, promised to a bright future.  
\- Is everything alright, Comrade Shcherbina?   
\- I’m fine.

The massive concrete building shadowed our car-- Headquarter of the party.

_I couldn’t just let them have the last say._

I tried my best but the memory of him kept torturing me for the entire morning. 

\---

Sitting behind my desk, I was reading some files when the phone rang. _Meeting delayed_. Old enough to understand it meant troubles somewhere, tired enough to ignore it.

Rubbing my red eyes, I sat back in my chair and looked at the effervescence, secretaries, party members, couriers running through the corridor. I couldn’t remember the last time I haven’t felt exhausted. Certainly, before Chernobyl. Before the radiations stole away the last bit of youthfulness I had back then.

\- So, Charkov left.

Looking down on a letter, I raised my head in anticipation. Not here, not now. It couldn’t be him. I ignored him, pursuing my reading. I then felt a presence behind me.

\- Has his early retirement something to do with-?

My jaws clenched. It was so childish to think a suicide and a few tapes were enough to break the soviet wheel. It hadn’t been enough. It only scratched the surface, revealing the slump beneath.

\- We helped, I said, cursing myself for speaking once more to a ghost.  
\- We?  
\- Tarakanov and I.

The ghost of Valery nodded, pleased.

\- If you think Charkov was the worst man of this institution, you’re oblivious.  
\- Spiteful, I am. It was one of my faults.

I stood up, lowering the shutters. Valery was standing upon my desk, riffling through my papers.

\- You can’t touch- move things. You’re a vision.  
\- Obviously, I can, he muffled, lifting the stapler to give some proof.

I was undeniably going mad. If my unconscious self was trying to process Valery’s death – or my own --, I had to take every chance to understand the meaning of these appearances.

\- Why are you haunting me?  
\- I don’t know. I woke up here, he answered, anxious. There was nothing and then-  
\- You were there yesterday, around midnight but you disappeared.

Valery suddenly looked distraught. I’ve never thought how hard it might be to a scientist to cope with those ghostly meetings. My imagination had more resources than I believed.

\- Are you escorting me to heaven? Or hell?  
\- If so, no one told me.

I sat, confused. If Valery was some result of my sick brain, I’d better learn to live with. Maybe, it was time to exorcise some grudges. Loneliness definitely affected me more than I expected.

\- Those feelings I kept inside- My mind needs to sort those memories out, I said with a serious tone which I hoped was enough to sound sane. You’re some sort of catalyser, nothing more. 

Valery shook his head.

\- It is a possibility, he said, impassive. You should take care of yourself. You’re getting skinnier.  
\- I’m dying. What were you expecting?

_I’m talking to him like a real human being. I should be scared, but it just feels like a solace._

Suddenly, the door opened.

\- Is everything okay? My secretary asked, worried. I saw the shutters down, but the meeting had been delayed and-  
\- I’m fine. I’ve received the call. I’ll send my report to our General Secretary.

The woman eyed the windows. I frowned – headache, I said. Light makes it worse. She smiled sadly and left the room, insisting one last time that she was available to help me whenever I wanted.

Valery was still there. 

\- Did you see her?  
\- I did.  
\- But she didn’t see you.

I stood up and coughed, looking straight forward.

\- You doesn’t really exist. You’re an invention of my mind.  
\- If I were, I wouldn’t tell you things you didn’t know.

I laughed dryly.

\- Go on, then.  
\- I slept with Khomyuk once, he said, out of nowhere. In Kiev.

I laughed even more. Valery was swinging his legs under his chair, looking at his feet. Poor shy thing. He confronted me nevertheless:

\- Why would you want your subconscious to imagine such things? 

I gaped at him, speechless. The silence lasted for a minute until I regained my composure. Valery was still in front of me, visibly lost in his thoughts. I watched him carefully; the perfectly combed hair, his square jaw, his lips twitching, those little scars on his cheek—I must had stared at him more than I thought to register such details.

I then realized he was staring back at me. I cleared up my voice.

\- How was it?

He frowned; I rolled my eyes, exasperated.

\- Khomyuk.  
\- It was a pleasant experience, he answered, laconically. She was a fine partner.

Valery was rubbing his neck, making his best to hide his little, _proudish_ smile.

I knew none of it really happened. This scene was obviously made up by my decaying mind.

Yet, that smile warmed me to my bones. 


	4. Anger

**Shcherbina’s apartment, Moscow, 7th September 1989**

\- You hate working there. 

Enjoying my supper, I was making as much noise as possible, scraping my spoon along the side of my bowl. It wasn’t enough to cover the sound of Valery’s pointless monologue.

I was now facing the fact that I was totally going mad. Valery had been staying for three days, vanishing from time to time without any explanation and coming back without any warning.

\- It is my duty, I shrugged. I’m not supposed to like it; I’m only supposed to do my job rightfully.

He gave me a despiteful look, impersonating me with an exasperating tone.   
\- Oh, I see. I need to fulfill our General Secretary’s requirements. Even if it means- 

I stood up hastily, raising my voice.

\- We’ve had our differences. But believe me, what’s coming next is much worse. Yeltsin will ruin everything.   
\- And what are you doing to prevent this?

I winced. The cabbage soup was now cold, and Valery was getting on my nerves more than ever. How could I have forgotten how annoying this laboratory rat could be when it comes to politics.

\- You’re doing nothing significant. You keep playing by the rules, you need to use unseen methods.

Annoying and reckless, I remembered.

I let out a sharp laugh, like a bark.  
\- Let’s talk about methods. Should I hang myself and hope things would turn out the right way? 

He overlooked the bitter remark on purpose.  
\- Do what you’re the best at, Boris. Be loud, be bold.   
\- And next? It’ll be over for me in a few months.   
\- If you really believe in Gorbachev, if you trust him—then go, act. He’s still young, he’ll last years after you’re gone.  
  
The clock ticked midnight. I sighed, heading to the kitchen. Upset of being suddenly ignored, Valery called after me as I left the dining room.   
\- I’m not done with you—Where are you going?   
\- Enough is enough. I’m reheating my dinner; I’ll have it in my bedroom and pretend my apartment is not haunted by some _know-it-all_ \--

Valery looked offended. I yelled one last time, shutting the door behind me.  
\- Be loud, be bold, you said. 

\--

**Headquarter of the party, Moscow, 8th September 1989**

When I woke up the next day, Valery was gone.

I didn’t know if I was relieved or not.

Being obliged to endure endless hours of tedious meeting, I have come to realize that not a single leap had been made since the beginning of the day. The young, pretentious chairmen were cozying up together in order to tear Gorbachev’s throat out when the moment comes.

I coughed loudly on purpose. Their heads turned towards me.   
\- As you all know, I’m dying. I haven’t time to waste with people who value their careers more than our party, or country. 

One of the young wolves answered me, smirking.   
\- What is the point of your intervention, Minister Shcherbina?

His close-knit guard nodded, akin to hyenas stalking a wounded beast.   
\- I could turn that question around you. What is the point of any of your interventions, or submissions?  
We spent hours, talking of useless measures. My thought is, are you really trying to solve problems? Or using it as a ladder, waiting for some heads to fall- looking for your place under the sun.

The vultures were showing their teeth. I felt a shiver run down my spine. A good one. Exciting one. 

\- Listen carefully; the sun won’t be brighter when you’ll get there.

Our General Secretary eyed me from across the table, making a small gesture toward my chair. If it wasn’t for him, I would have left the room, but I sat, calmly. My quietness aroused my opponents’ anger. A few of them looked uncomfortable. A small victory.

Gorbachev and I exchanged another look, thankful. Discussions resumed, focusing on the most urgent issues. I haven’t noticed Valery, standing against the wall, curling his lips with a slight expression of “Told-you-so” pride. 

It always suited him so well. I smiled behind my hands, not wanting to encourage him.

The laboratory rat hasn’t said his last word. The old bear hasn’t either. 

\---  
  
Valery didn’t make it to Gorbachev’s office.  
  
Rising my glass to my lips, I savored the beverage. It felt so odd drinking vodka in his company. The General Secretary despised alcohol. It was well-known and mocked as well.  
  
\- I kept this bottle for special occasions.   
\- Is it?   
\- Barely, but I enjoyed your intervention.   
  
I arched my eyebrows and took the last mouthful. Gorbachev refilled my glass as soon as I emptied it.  
\- I’m tired, he said, fatalistic.   
\- We’ve got something in common, then, I remarked, exhausted.   
\- Here we are, guardians of the Republic.

Gorbachev sat on his desk, pushing away some papers. We stayed in a comfortable silence for ten, fifteen minutes before he sighed, annoyed.  
\- I could have handle it better.  
  
There were no need to ask what he was talking about. Chernobyl. I drank in one draught.   
\- If you’re asking for forgiveness, I can’t. But-

Gorbachev raised his head, impatient to know my request.   
\- Can I miss work for three days?  
\- Of course, he said. You earned it more than anyone.  
  
I showed my glass, pleased, before leaving.   
\- It tasted really good, General Secretary.  
\- You're welcome, he answered back, impassive.

\---

 **Shcherbina’s apartment, Moscow, 8th September 1989**  
  
\- She called back, Sir. She’ll be waiting for you at the station. You train leaves at half past ten.   
  
I put down the phone, thanking the office lady. Valery appeared, curious to know more about the conversation. I pretended not to notice his interrogative look and turned on the TV.

\- You were right, I said, resting my cheek on my fist. I softened with age.   
\- You can’t be blamed, he answered back. After all, I gave up.  
  
I eyed him, hoping it was enough to tell him what I couldn’t say; _I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it_. He nodded; he understood.

\- We did our best, he whispered, secretive.  
  
I stared at him, discreetly. Reddish brown hair, tooth-gaped smile and pouty lips, intense blue eyes—and old-fashioned oversized glasses. Something bothered me; I tried to sound as evasive as possible.   
\- Have you already seen yourself? You--  
  
He waited for the end of my sentence, rubbing his shin.  
  
_You look handsome._  
  
\- You look much younger than the day we met.  
  
I bit my lip, unsettled. I collected myself, wriggling in my chair.  
\- Thirty-something, I’d say.

He didn’t answer at all, watching the screen and shaking his head slightly when I made a remark. I felt less lonely than the past few months. It wasn’t so bad.


	5. Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M is a bit too much for this chapter, T wouldn't be enough, I guess.

**Minsk suburb, 10** th September 1989   
  
Sitting in her rather luxurious dining room, Khomyuk was staring at her hands, tapping her fingers on the table. I had never thought of her living in wealth. I pictured scientists, not that I had known many, living in small apartments filled with books, and dust. Valery’s, I realized. His was a complete mess. He preferred the word _high_ _entropy_ ; he had said once.

Her coffee cup had gone cold; she finally peered me up and down with her smart eyes. I felt studied, judged. I stiffed at her blaming tone.

\- I didn’t expect to hear from you, Comrade Shcherbina. I never received any response of you. I wrote, phoned you before and after Valery’s burial.   
\- I preferred to grieve alone, I explained myself, studying her face discreetly.

Most of her hair had turned white. Deep wrinkles were etched around her mouth; her skin had turned into an unhealthy shade of grey. Radiations didn’t leave her unscathed.

\- Then why are you visiting me now?   
\- I had enough of grieving alone, I said. I thought talking about him would be easier now.  
  
She gave me the benefit of doubt and opened up a little. We had small talk for a while until we ran out of topics.   
On my side, I knew exactly which subject I meant to discuss. A sensitive one.

Thanks God, Valery didn’t show since I left Moscow.   
  
\- I know you had an affair with him. 

Her eyes widened. She checked around her and gave me a murderous look.   
\- I am married, she claimed, shocked. I suppose you heard about it years ago, why would you blackmail me now?  
  
I couldn’t remember a more awkward conversation in my life. But at least, I knew.

\- It has nothing to do with intimidation. Your secret will be kept, I promise, I tried to reassure her.  
  
Her worried look turned into a confused one.   
\- Why asking me—She shook her head. What else did he tell you?   
\- Valery told me nothing. I had doubts back then. I wanted to know the truth.

\- We had different ways to cope with the situation. Unlike me, he wasn’t married—We enjoyed each other’s company. It’s hardly a crime.

I felt a stirring in my chest. She arched an eyebrow.   
\- It is an odd thing to discuss the sex life of a dead man. I can see there is something else bothering you, she almost whispered, pensive. My time to say I had doubts back then.

I held my breath, looking everywhere but her, afraid to betray anything. I rolled my eyes:  
\- I can’t believe what you’re implying there. It’s ridiculous.   
\- If you say so, she shrugged, pouring herself another coffee.   
\- I’m a widow, I’ve been married for twenty-seven years, I-  
  
Khomyuk made me understood that my explanations were futile. She chuckled at me, stared into my eyes.  
\- You’re old enough to know better.  
  
She abruptly changed the subject.   
\- That day, at the court, he followed you outside. As soon as he was back inside, I knew he had changed his mind. I was right. He did it, he told them. Why?  
  
I got a handkerchief out of my suit pocket and showed her, fatalistic.  
\- Disappointing, is it? A bit of blood was all it took to persuade him.   
\- Yours, she corrected, gloomy.  
\- We discussed for a while. I kept persuading myself we could act as if nothing happened, but deep inside me, I knew we didn’t have the choice. We both knew where we were heading. I paused, pained by the memory. I’d never thought-  
\- Boris, you couldn’t save him from himself. He was too stubborn.  
\- Yes, he was, I muttered, staring at nothing.

A silence set in, until Khomyuk smiled at me, sadly. I nodded.   
\- Bone marrow disease, brain tumor. I’m screwed.   
\- Those are frequent radiations sickness.

She didn’t tell me she was sorry or showed pity; I liked it. It was refreshing, talking with someone who was dealing with your long illness as a statistic and nothing more.   
\- Will you stay for the night?, she asked. I warn you. Hotels have some troubles with bed bugs, over here.  
  
Something went unsaid. Seductive, I wouldn’t dare to say but—

\- I don’t want to disturb your husband.   
\- He won’t say anything, I promise.

I wasn’t sure he got to say anything at all. I rubbed my neck and nodded. I felt twenty years younger, at least. Shyness ran through my whole body. She laughed.   
\- Didn’t think you were the prudish type, Boris.   
  
She licked her lips. I bit mine.  
  
_As she said, it’s hardly a crime._

\----

I moaned in her ear, unaware of her victorious grin. She fell on top of me, her hair tickling my chin. I stroke her side, from breast to hip, and back again.

I wasn’t that great; she didn’t seem to mind.

My ragged breath finally slowed down. She rubbed circles in my chest hair with her fingertips. I grunted in disapproval. She laughed once more as I got dressed.   
\- First door on your left. Shower, she said, putting her skirt back on. I’ll make dinner.

I smirked, looking at her legs while she walked away. I really wasn’t impatient to sit and eat in company of her husband. I lit a cigarette, dizzy. I slept with Khomyuk. Valery slept with her as well. He, or whatever he was, told me the truth. Something I didn’t know.

It made me shiver.

\---

Dinner was fine and as embarrassing as I had imagined it would be. Thanks God, her husband went to bed early. We then spent the evening together, on her terrace in a comfortable silence.

\- I miss him, she said, watching the stars.   
  
She eyed me, enthusiastic.   
\- Tell me about him, about Valery. How was he? You knew him better then anyone.

Wine has untied my tongue. I sat back on my chair and thought for moments.   
\- He was reckless, I answered. Bringing him to a meeting was like carrying TNT in your pocket.   
  
Wind blew, cooling us down. She looked at me, amused, and took another draught of wine.   
\- We all know that. I didn’t get to know him better than you.   
  
I dived into memories, a cigarette burning between my fingers.   
\- He was funny.

I closed my eyes, biting my thumb.   
\- I’m sure he won’t be remembered for this, but he was, I said, fondly. Your turn. How was it like—Sleeping with him.

I definitely drank too much wine. Khomyuk did, also.

\- Good. He wasn’t as shy as you.

We laughed and agreed to go to bed.

\- Goodnight, Ulana, I whispered, closing the door.

The spare bedroom was classy. Soft pillows, huge bed, hideous paintings in expansive frames.

\- I knew you’d be here, said a voice, a familiar one.

I jumped. Valery, sitting on the only chair of the room, had this grin on his face. He knew. I whispered, afraid to be heard.   
\- Don’t you dare--   
\- I can’t blame a dying man.

I sighed, hands on my belt, hoping he would disappear. He never did—On purpose, I figured out.

\- We were basically living on top of each other for months and- I’ve just realized I’ve never seen you—Naked, he whispered, as if his own words were embarrassing him. Not even shirtless.   
\- I’m modest, I’ve always been, I answered, turning my back on him. I saw you once.

Sitting on the bed, Valery chuckled nervously.   
\- I remember. You never knocked and--, he paused, pensive. You didn’t leave, talking like usual-

I felt a warmness spreading on my cheeks. This one was different from the one I felt earlier. With Khomyuk, I thought. It still sounded unreal to me.

\- --felt observed--

I hooked my suspenders, lowering them off my shoulders, slowly. I heard him stop talking, feeling his piercings eyes on me. I held my breath, gave my shirt a tug to release it, unfastening my buttons with shaking hands.

\- There is not much to see, Valera. 

The air was thick with anticipation. I meticulously folded my shirt about the back of my armchair, shivering in my far too large undershirt. It soon joined the shirt. I turned back, facing him.

\- Borja, he whispered, focusing on my stomach. Where did you get this?

I looked down on the palm-sized scar branding my left side.   
\- Winter war. Some ammunition exploded. My uniform melt and fused with my skin. Nasty. 

He shook his head and took quick glances on my shoulders, upper arms, torso, and smiled; cheeks flushed. He seemed lost in his thoughts for a while, then--   
\- I’ve always wondered if you were-   
\- Yes, I was.

I didn’t need to hear the question to know. His eyes told me.

I smiled to myself, experiencing a strange mix of sorrow and excitement.   
\- I would have given you everything. I would have followed you anywhere, I said, quietly. You never understood.   
  
I couldn’t find a word to translate the fondness and the precautious curiosity carried in Valery’s gaze. I never felt more considered—respected. It brought a warm, pleasant sensation in my gut.

_If only I’d been braver--_

\- But it doesn’t matter anymore.   
  
He tilted his head, saddened.   
\- It is good to know, still.

I laid down, exhausted. Shirtless also, but I didn’t even mind.   
  
\- Will you be here tomorrow? I asked, hopefully.   
\- I will. 

I closed my eyes. I felt the mattress moving with his weight. 

The silence was somewhat strange; comfortable as it used to be, yet heavy with earlier confessions. Suddenly, s _omething_ , soft like a breeze, ruffled my hair. I’m almost certain it was him. Or at least, I like to pretend it was.

I let out a whimper.

Sleep took me fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Ulana/Boris wasn't planned, but I felt like it was a interresting thing to write. Hope you have enjoyed it ! I really had fun written this chapter.


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